Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush sprang
to their feet and confronted the white-faced Captain
Dawson, who stared at them and breathed fast.
For a full minute they gazed into one another’s
faces, dazed, motionless and speechless. The
partners stood, each with pipe in hand, the faint
smoke curling upward from the bowls, their slouched
hats still on their frowsy heads, the revolvers at
their cartridge belts spanning their waists, their
trousers tucked in the tops of their boots, and with
their heavy flannel shirts serving for coats and vests.
Captain Dawson was similarly attired.
He had dashed out of his own cabin and into that of
his friends, his long locks flying, and even the strands
of his heavy beard rigidly apart, as if from the consternation
that had taken possession of his very soul.
In those seconds of tomb-like stillness,
an ember on the earthen hearth fell apart and a twist
of flame threw a yellow illumination through the small
room, grim and bare of everything suggesting luxury.
It was the parson who first found
voice, but when he spoke the tones, even to himself,
sounded like those of another person.
“Captain, it is possible that
there is some mistake about this.”
“Would to God there might be!”
“Let us hope there is.”
“Mistake!” he repeated
in a husky, rasping voice; “can there be any
mistake about that?”
He threw out his single arm as he
spoke, as if he would drive his fist through their
chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in
the face of the parson, who silently took it from
him, crinkled it apart and turning his side so that
the firelight fell on the sheet, began reading the
few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate
hand which he knew so well.
“Read it out loud, parson,”
said Ruggles, speaking for the first time.
Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:
“MY DEAREST FATHER: I
have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell. We
love each other and I have promised to become his wife.
Do not think I love you any less for that can never
be. I cannot remain here. You will hear
from us soon and then I pray that you will come
to your own
NELLIE.”
“Have you been to his shanty?”
asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended the meaning
of his own words.
“Why would he go there?” angrily demanded
the parson.
“Mebbe the villain changed his mind.”
“But, if he had, she would not be there.”
“Yes; I went to his cabin,”
bitterly answered Captain Dawson; “he has not
been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted;
if I found him, I would have killed him.”
The three were laboring under fearful
emotion, but with surprising power forced themselves
to seem comparatively calm.
“Captain, tell us about it,”
said the parson, carefully folding the bit of paper
upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved
by the others.
Despite his apparent calmness it took
a few moments for the father to gain sufficient self-control
to speak clearly. Seated in the chair, he looked
into the embers of the fire on the hearth, compressed
his lips and breathed hard. His two friends had
also seated themselves, for it seemed to them it was
easier to master their agitation thus than while upon
their feet.
“What have I to tell, but my
everlasting woe and shame? The lieutenant and
I have been working for several days by ourselves on
a new lead. I had noticed nothing unusual in
his manner nor indeed in that of my child. At
lunch time to-day he complained to me of not feeling
like work, and told me not to expect him back this
afternoon. I would have returned with him, had
not the indications of the new lead been so good.
And actually he invited me to do no more work until
to-morrow, though why he should have done it, when
it would have spoiled their whole scheme, is more
than I can explain.
“It was part of his plan to deceive you.”
“I don’t see how it could
do that, for there was no need of his inviting me, but
let it go. It came about that I worked later than
usual, so that it was dark when I got home. I
was surprised to see no light and to find no fire
or Nellie. I thought nothing of that, however,
for who would have believed it possible that there
could be anything wrong? I supposed she was with
some of the folks and being tired I sat down in my
chair and fell asleep.
“When I awoke, the room was
cold, silent and as dark as a wolf’s mouth.
I felt impatient and decided to give her a scolding
for being so neglectful. I groped around until
I found a match, intending to start a fire. I
had just lit the lamp and set it down on the table,
when I caught sight of a folded piece of paper with
my name in her handwriting on the outside. It
gave me a queer feeling and my hands trembled when
I unfolded and read it.
“I don’t clearly remember
the next few minutes. The room seemed to be spinning
around, and I think I had to sit down to keep from
falling, but what saved me from collapse was my anger.
I have been consumed with indignation once or twice
in my life, but was never so furious, so uncontrollable,
so utterly savage as I was after reading that note.
If I could have found Russell, I would have throttled
him. It may sound strange, but I hardly once
thought of Nellie; it was he, the villain,
whom I yearned to get my hands on.”
“Of course,” said Ruggles,
“that’s the way you oughter feel.”
“I don’t know what possessed
me to do so, but I rushed out and made straight for
his cabin, as if I would find him there. Of course
that too was empty, and then I came here. Fool
that I have been!” exclaimed the parent, leaping
to his feet and striding up and down the room; “not
to see all this, but,” he added pathetically,
“I believed that Nellie loved me.”
The flaming wrath of the two melted
into pity for the stricken father. Parson Brush
laid his hand on his shoulder and compelled him to
resume his seat. Then he spoke with the tenderness
of a woman:
“That child does love
you more than she loves her own life, but she is blinded
by her infatuation for that smooth-tongued scoundrel.
It is the nature of her sex to feel and act thus;
but, as I said, it does not mean that her love for
you is less ”
“Don’t talk of her love
for me,” fiercely interrupted the parent; “we
only judge of a person by his actions.”
“But you and I have made mistakes ”
“Nothing like this; why did
she not ask me? why did he not tell me that
he wished to marry her? that is if he does,”
added the father, as if determined to make his own
cup as bitter as possible.
“He did not ask you, because
he knew you would refuse; for from the first time
he entered this community, he was determined to have
her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Ruggles and I read
him; we did what no one else did, we measured
the man. Am I right, Wade?”
The miner nodded his head.
“Every word is as true as gospel;
we noticed his sly looks at her, that first night
you and him entered the Heavenly Bower and she was
there. We couldn’t make any mistake about
it.”
“And you didn’t warn me!
You two are as bad as he, because you kept the secret
when you ought to have put me on my guard, so that
I might have strangled him at the first advance he
made.”
Sympathy for the man prevented his
listeners taking offence at the words which, from
any one else, would have brought serious consequences.
The parson said soothingly:
“If you were not so wrought
up, captain, you would not be so unreasonable; suppose
Wade and I had gone to you with the statement that
the man who, according to your own words, had saved
your life but a short time before in the mountains,
was a villain, who contemplated robbing you of your
child; what would you have done?”
“Thanked you and been on my guard.”
“You would have done nothing
of the kind; you would have cursed us and told us
to mind our own business.”
“No matter what I would have
done, it was your duty to tell me, regardless of the
consequences to yourselves. I might have resented
it, but my eyes would have been opened and this blow
saved me.”
“Nothing could have opened your
eyes, for you were blind,” said the parson,
who felt that though the man was intensely agitated,
he ought to hear some plain truths; “even had
you suspected there was ground for our fears, you
would have gone to Lieutenant Russell and demanded
an explanation. He would have denied it, and you
would have believed him with the result that he would
have been put on his guard and would have deceived
you the more completely.”
“Likewise, as aforesaid,”
added Ruggles, “the villain would have come
to us and made us give our grounds for our charges.
What ridic’lous fools we would have been, when
all we could answer was that we thought he looked
as if he meant to run away with your darter.”
“There may be some justice in
what you say,” replied the captain more composedly;
“It was I who was blind, but I can’t understand
it. Never until I read that piece of paper, did
I suspect the truth.”
“Howsumever, the parson and
me haven’t been idle; we often talked it over
and fixed on a line that we thought would work better
than going to you. We showed the leftenant that
we was onto his game; I give him a scowl now and then,
as it fell convenient, that said ‘Beware!’
We, that is the parson and me, made up our minds to
watch close, and, at the first sign that was dead
sure, we’d fall onto him like a couple of mountains.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“He fooled us as he did you.
We was talkin’ over matters the very minute
you busted into the door and was satisfied that he
had larned he was playin’ with fire and had
concluded to drop it. We was as big fools as
you.”